In Dreams
by Lyaka
Summary: Dreams: the tool of the powerful, the lost, and the forgotten... An ancient kingdom, a lost people, a secret meant to be forgotten: and, of course, it isn't really a dream at all... SeiferQuistis
1. transfer

AN: o.O Wow. Get ready, ladies and gentlemen, because this is going to be more confusing than the junction system. I don't even understand everything, and I'm the author.  
  
  
What more of an explanation than that? Okay, okay ^_-. Well, this started after reading yet another Squinoa fic in which they start having "dreams" about their "past lives" and they fall in love and then realize, oh wait a second, I must be in love now too! I ranted about it to a fellow obsessor online, she ranted back, and the long and short of it was I started wondering if it was possible to write a *good* dream-fic. You can probably figure it out from there.   
  
  
This fic is written in two points of view. One is Quisty's, whose head I just can't seem to get out of for the moment. She's back, but is she holding it together? I'll let you be the judge.  
  
  
The second pov is a "general" one, from both "sides".  
  
  
"Sides"? Ah, that's the other thing: this fic is also written in two time periods. One is the typical post-game (yes, Seifer's back) generic Garden most of us seem to envision. The other one... well, you know about as much as Quisty does.  
  
  
This first part goes in no particular order. It's a series of jumbled recollections designed to give you a brief and very not thorough crash course in what-the-heck-is-going-on, both in the 'worlds' and Quisty's fragmented little head. After this things will settle into a somewhat chronological, although probably no more thorough, fashion. Thoughts tend to skip around.  
  
  
Key:  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* a break between scenes taking place in the same time *period*  
  
  
////////// a switch between our time and the time that exists in Quisty's dream...  
  
  
...except, of course, it isn't really a dream at all...  
  
  
---------------  
_In Dreams_  
---------------  
  
  
  
There was never any warning. Not anymore.  
  
It could happen anytime. It depended not on how things were here, but on what occurred *there*. Midterms, sleeping, walking down the hall: it didn't matter. If something was happening, off she went.  
  
Of course, she still had no idea who "they" were, or what "they" wanted. Perhaps more importantly, she still wasn't quite sure why.  
  
Why now, that was. Why this method. Why "they" had chosen to do this.  
  
Why her, on the other hand, she already knew.  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
  
The first time had been at night.  
  
The moment her head hit the pillow she was asleep and awake in a dream more vivid than any she'd ever had.  
  
They weren't dreams, of course. But she wouldn't realize that until the third time she blinked and was gone during a lecture on Diablos.  
  
Her first thought was "Ellone". It really did seem like the same thing, opening strange eyes, performing odd tasks with familiarity, unknown phrases rolling easily off her tongue.  
  
It took her two trips to notice the difference.  
  
With Sis, the foreign sensation was clear. You were not in control. The fingers that moved, the body that breathed, none of it was yours. It very definitely belonged to Someone Else.  
  
But there was no dominant personality here relegating her to passenger status. She was in control and it was her body that moved.  
  
It was right about then that she found the looking-glass.  
  
  
//////////  
  
  
After the first gasp of shock I calm and look at the reflection critically. One hand tilts the mirror's angle; automatically, but it gives me pause, and I focus on the slim, uncalloused fingers. I realize what has been nagging at me. I moved that hand.  
  
My gaze returns to the glass, and I understand why.  
  
No one would mistake us for twins. Stood next to each other the difference would be apparent. But viewed seperately, the similarities were striking.  
  
The hair a shade darker, a richer gold against which my more common blond would pale. Sapphire eyes instead of cornflower. Strong, but lacking the muscles of a life of military training. More beautiful than I, I admit, and more feminine, wearing a formal gown that clung with intent to show. An inch, perhaps two taller.  
  
But that is just the surface. The features match too closely for coincidence. A cheekbone higher, a nose slightly rounder, we would never be called identical but that's not the point. The real difference between us was not in body but in time.  
  
Looking to the mirror I was right at home.  
  
The conclusion seemed so far-fetched, but I have come to realize the inevitability of the truth.  
  
This was also my time. This was also my body.  
  
How many lifetimes ago, I was not yet prepared to guess.  
  
  
//////////  
  
  
How long has this been going on?  
  
I remember there was snow on the ground, so much silence, it seemed wrong to break the chill with noise that would be swallowed anyway. Winter is a lonely season when there is nothing but yourself.  
  
I suppose I was lonely.  
  
It's not like I care.  
  
They say freezing to death is painless, after the first chill. You like back on the snow like an angel made by children and go to sleep.  
  
It's winter again.  
  
It feels like forever.  
  
Time passes so strangely for me now. Once I spent two weeks there. Eating, sleeping, dancing, negotiating with Estharians and our own nobles. Everything that is expected of the king's daughter. Proper, demure, and of marriageable age.  
  
Ironic that I may find in my past something I gave up hope for in the present.  
  
I still don't understand why.  
  
It's not like I'm the type of girl people are attracted to.  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
On this end, there's never any difference in time.  
  
Even after a week spend dreaming, when I opened my eyes again not even a second had passed.  
  
But time passes there. Not by years or even usually by months, not after the first few times, but hours. Days. Weeks, once or twice. I'll leave while dressing for a ball and awaken the morning after, or two days later. It's not like I control it.  
  
You have to remember things quickly either way. Never appear thrown, confused, unsure or out of place. That leads to questions, too many questions.  
  
I don't know the purpose of this but damned if I'll broadcast it. It's too much already. I'm not crazy but I'm not sure I'm Quite Sane. Then again I'm not sure any of us are, after that. How could we be?  
  
I don't want help. Don't need help. Can't ever be seen to ask for help.  
  
I feel like I can't breathe, anymore.  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
They say anyone in a war, if there's nothing mentally wrong with them, will if they do it long enough begin to hate killing. It happens to every cadet. More than tests, more than weapons proficiency, more than junction compatibilities, this makes or breaks your shot at SeeD.  
  
No one will notice or tell you you should go see Dr. Kadowaki. If you start talking they'll listen, but they won't really help. You're on your own.  
  
The successful ones disassociate themselves. It becomes unimportant and you become indifferent. It's about how well you aim, the flick of your wrist and the hiss in the air. Not about life. Not about death.  
  
Those who never achieve that state of being never make SeeD.  
  
Within these walls there is no room for remorse.  
  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
Is anyone else thoroughly confused? I think calculus is rotting my brain. Yeah, that's it, blame it on the math homework... :p  
  
  
You're no doubt beginning to notice I have an obsession with time... dunno where that comes from, but I love throwing frames of reference around and seeing how charachters react.  
  
Since I had no takers, and I'm still in Quisty's head, and I still think Seifer's the hottest thing around, this is another Seiftis. Somehow I don't think most of you will mind. After this I'm trying a Zuu fic... now *that's* going to be interesting.  
  
This is a strange little ficcy, no doubt about it, but I for one want to see where it ends up. *pause* Oh, don't look at me like that, of course I know where it ends up; I'm the author, aren't I? Well, either way (heh heh) this is going to be fun. I think. :)  
  
  
What do *you* think? Ah-hah! It's "Rant at the author!" time! *Thrill!* as Lyaka gets complimented! *Wince!* as she gets flamed! And *Scratch your head in utter confusion!* as she debates time paradoxes with herself! It's all inside: just click the button. And maybe I'll actually explain stuff at some point. ^_-  
  
  
Lyaka ^^ (evil lil' author) 


	2. falling farther in

I'm baaaaaack! *sighs* I have a feeling this fic is going to take longer to write. For one thing, it's more complex, and for another, writing it is very draining. Writing from first person projects Quisty's emotions onto me rather forcefully.  
  
Which brings me to the next thing: I'm upping the rating on this slightly. There's still nothing in here that minor's can't read or anything, but I'm noticing this piece is considerably darker, and I won't rule out the possibility of very bad things happening in later chapters. This part mentions a few courses of history en passant, so use this as a guide. This could go different ways, and I make no promises, so... I guess I'm just saying check your maturity level, okay?  
  
a'kh is a title similar to a count or an earl-- the highest noble after the king. I invented my own because using either of those seemed to break the mood.  
  
Not mine!  
  
----------------  
_In Dreams_  
----------------  
  
  
  
The sudden pounding of feet outside my door is the first clue that something is going on.  
  
The castle is chilly in the winter, wind and snow seeping through the stone and mortar despite carpet and fire. I've been cheating with Firaga spells, even considered borrowing Ifrit from Zell. I love cold, but this persistent damp and chill is a far cry from the peaceful, cleansing icy temperatures I favor.  
  
I've only been able to cheat because my junctions came with me, and it's lucky they did, too, for magic is rare and the ability to use it rarer. I was appalled to learn that the ability to cast was considered a rare phenomenon. They seem to believe that the ability to use magic is indicated by involuntary cast at a young age. Only people with the highest affinity for magic-- colored mages, wizards and sorceresses-- could manage that without any training. They have not yet learned that the ability to cast is inborn and can be drawn out in almost all cases with a sufficient amount of help. Here, mages make up only 1% of the standing army, and the king's champion possesses the kingdom's single GF.  
  
I haven't yet met him.  
  
The army's been gone for months, now, fighting the tribes in the north. Before that, he had spent a year in training at his home manor of Airin.  
  
But it looks like I shall get a chance to meet him now. The army's to remain at the castle for the winter, along with many of the principal nobles of the realm. With my coming out in this time just passed, I am not fooled as to the reason.  
  
The sudden exodus of pages and hostlers indicates that this is probably them now.  
  
I slip on a thicker pair of velvet slippers and dash from the room.  
  
I know the castle well, now. I recognize faces and tapestries and imperfections in the masonwork floor. This place is as much my home as Garden, now. I know the details of the treaty we're negotiating with the Kashkabad Empire as well as I still know what you can mug from a Marlboro.  
  
Living two lives came so naturally. I kept saying, at first, that I would wait just a little longer. Just enough to find out when, and where, then I'd go talk to Squall or Cid and find some way to make it stop. But then I stopped *wanting* to make it stop. I started caring about their problems. It helped that they cared about me.  
  
Am I trying to make up for some childhood innocence? It truly sounds like a fairy tale. I am a princess. I have a father, who although distant, loves me. I will soon be married to a no-doubt-handsome noble, warrior, or both in one. My ability to use magic has marked me as prized above all delicacies.  
  
I am wanted, loved, desired. I am special.  
  
  
//////////  
  
  
They'd probably say I'm experiencing some kind of escapist dream, if I told them. Haul me to the infirmary, dose me with pills, pry me with counseling, try to keep me away.  
  
Addictive. I stay.  
  
I keep my mouth shut.  
  
Sometimes I have to pull myself up short. Once I was asked for news. The first thing that came to mind was that we'd finally convinced the Duke of Dollet to sign a non-aggression pact. We need it, desperately. Our army is besieged by tribes within our own borders and the world outside is none to friendly. Galbariand to the north is making territorial noises again, and we're only one off from first in line. Pacifist Timeb won't hold out long, it's certain.  
  
In the first few days, before I settled in for the long haul, I developed a sudden reputation for being a history buff.  
  
In for the long haul. What happens when I die here? When I die there?   
  
The former is far more likely to occur first.  
  
Living the rest of my life in the past isn't as alien a prospect anymore. Nor is it unpleasant. How many people would truly miss me? How many would I truly miss?  
  
My siblings. Yes, I'd miss them, but what else is new? I've been missing them since we defeated Ultimecia. As soon as she was gone they didn't need me anymore. Absorbed with each other.  
  
The part that hurts the most is that it truly wasn't intentional.  
  
It happened anyway.  
  
The kingdom's dying. Oh, it's true; no one likes to speak of it but you can tell if you look hard enough. Through no fault of our own. Why is it that everything I build always falls apart? Why is it that nothing I love endures? I have come to love the past, and not entirely for the virtues it accords me. For the peace. For the security. For the knowledge that I can come to it, and be loved for who I am, not for what I have done or may do again.  
  
They don't expect me to do anything beyond marry well.  
  
Part of me still recoils from the sexist ideals embodied within. But I am so worn down, broken; the offer of protection that I would once have scorned I now reach for longingly.  
  
In my more lucid moments, I despise myself, my weakness, how pathetic I have become.  
  
My head is never empty anymore. Chaos enfurls me.  
  
I'm falling apart. I know it.  
  
I want to much just to sleep, to sleep forever, and waken only when I am pure again. After the blood and the death and the confusion have been washed away by someone who truly loves me.  
  
I only lose more when I admit that in neither time is that a possibility.  
  
I'm falling farther in.  
  
History tells me the Lihallans were destroyed by the Galbariands, overrun, fallen upon and slaughtered or enslaved. I've read enough dime store romances in my lonely nights to know what my fate would be at their hands. A beautiful alien princess-- oh, they'd dream of me, and use me, and kill me after I was too broken to be of any further pleasure.  
  
But the date is uncertain, and no names survive, of Lihallan rulers or nobles or princesses, or their Galbariand murderers. Oh, I combed the library and the computer systems. In none of them could I find mention of Naltaeri of Lihalla.  
  
Whether that indicates my father's reign passed without incident, or that it was obliterated beyond any record, is beyond my power to know. Lihalla could fall in my lifetime. It could fall a century later.  
  
The future has never been something I'm comfortable with. SeeD or princess, I live only for the day.  
  
It's not like the future really holds anything different. Whenever I am.  
  
  
//////////  
  
  
They're back.  
  
I emerge breathless in the main hall. The bulk of the troops are already dispersed to the stables or the barracks. The Lord-captains and Knights are preparing dispatches to their lands and fiefs. Only a few officials stand before my father's throne. The War-Minister, the Exchequer, and the Guards-General stand silently aside, here to listen to the Champion's report.  
  
He's who I'm most interested in. I've heard the stories. A noble by birth, the younger son, orphaned a year after coming to the palace to train for a knight. Their holdings are among the largest, and between them they are the most powerful men in the kingdom. The champion is never known to use that influence, focusing solely on the warrior's life, and despite his characteristic silence he is beloved of the people, for his skills have kept our country together despite barbaric rebels and attempted invasions from Centra and Altara. He uses magic, and junctions to our kingdom's one GF. They don't know Quezacotl and Doomtrain live within me. Can he sense them?  
  
I speculated, of course, but it was only a few days ago that I made the connection.  
  
Walking past the servants' quarters I heard chambermaids gossiping. The latest tidbit is the question of my future husband. They were listing everyone from the sixty-one-year-old Knight-Lord of Naxen to Tion il'Chital, who just came of age. Each name more ridiculous than the last, until the cook suggested Lord Lykouleon, the champion. In between gasps of laughter one serving-girl who thought much of her wit suggested he could then be called the "Ice Prince". His supposed frigidity in bed soon occupied much of their conversation, but I had heard enough to guess who our Champion was, and would be.  
  
As he straightens from his bow, guantleted hand pressed to his chest, I get a good look at his face.  
  
I'm not listening as he launches into his report.  
  
The abrupt chill of Shiva's presence only further confirms what I already know.  
  
Tempest Lykouleon il'Airin finishes his report in a calm, clipped tone. I wait for him to bow and exit, but he doesn't, only steps to one side.  
  
From behind a pillar, in the shadows, steps a second man.  
  
My breath catches in my throat as flickering firelight catches on golden hair.  
  
"Your Majesty," he bows, the exact degree required from the highest-ranking noble to the king, and no more. Oh, he's pride enough, that one. A new face, yet I have no problem seeing past the subtle differences to recognizance. Pride, and ambition.  
  
It doesn't take much intelligence, with my 18th birthday not a month gone, to surmise why the most powerful man in the kingdom has left his comfortable manor in winter to attend court.  
  
"My elder brother," Tempest introduces with unnecessary formality. "a'kh Syran li'Airin."  
  
Dark jade eyes, lit by a confidence that would border on arrogance if it were not tempered by compassion, regard my father with calm and understanding. The firelight must have chosen that moment to play tricks, for it looks as if my father looks him over briefly, then nods tacit approval to a question unvoiced.  
  
Unasked feelings well up in me, and shadows swallow me up as I whirl and run on soft, winged feet into the darkness of the inner castle.  
  
  
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^^ and now, let's break this depressing mood, shall we?  
  
seifer angel: thanx *happy*  
  
Quycksylver: actually I don't know how mine are going to end... ^^;;; the curse of the muses, I guess. Right now I'm so busy falling apart that I don't know enough calc to pass tomorrow's quiz, much less think straight or sleep. And I would suggest you keep running dedication line as usual. You've got plot and originality! Just, maybe, change the title a little. ^^v  
  
DragonLadyKira: Hey, if you could figure it out you're a step ahead of me! *laughs uneasily* I'm sure I'll explain everything... once I understand it, that is.  
  
MashiMaro-chan: You're a fan? o.O I have supporters! *happy dance* I hope you liked it... got to please my fans... *poses dramatically*  
  
Quistis88: You're back! Wai! Hope you don't mind I didn't explain much... my advice is 'be alert'. I'm not going to come right out and tell you anything until I've dropped at least three clues and beaten you over the head with a fourth. :)  
  
seyanaidi: *throws her graphing calculator too* at least we call it that... not that I can use it on tomorrow's calc quiz, oh no. I *knew* I should have studied. On the other hand, avoiding work promotes inspiration!  
  
Vanilla Tiger: cool name, btw. And I can't see a Zuu working either: that's exactly why I want to write one. I love a challenge. This fic is another. How am I doing so far?  
  
*deeeeeeeeeep breath*  
  
RRRREEEEEVVVVVIIIIEEEEEEWWWWWW MMMMMEEEEE!!!!!!  
  
^_____________________^  
  
*passes out from lack of oxygen* 


	3. symbolism

Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated ^_-  
  
I have no idea what took this part so long. Sure, I have way too many AP courses for my own good, and college applications are always a nightmare, but I usually write anyway. I just wasn't in the right mood. "In the zone, if you will", to quote a friend. Thank goodness I got back into it; I was starting to seriously worry about this little ficcy. But my batteries have been recharged, and things are settling down to become organized chaos- emphasis on organized- so I'm fairly sure we're back on track.  
  
Lesse... I reposted the last two chapters because I noticed some truly boneheaded mistakes... like spelling Naltaeri wrong (oops) and a few idiotic word choices... like noble young nobles *whacks forehead* dunno what I was thinking... but that's beside the point.  
  
Not mine!  
  
  
----------------  
_In Dreams_  
----------------  
  
  
//////////  
  
  
It's painfully obvious neither of them has a clue.  
  
I was watching, closely, the few minutes I see them anyway. The weekly update for A-rank SeeDs fell the second morning after. I was looking for something, anything. Nothing. Squall delineated world happenings as concisely as possible and Seifer was the epitome of superior indifference, leaning back in his chair with his feet on the conference table.  
  
I'm equal parts relieved and dismayed. Relieved, because they won't launch a crusade to sever the dreamband. Dismayed, because even now I'm not sure it's real, not sure I can trust myself. There is nothing to bridge the gap except me; sooner or later I'll be torn apart and then what will happen to us all?  
  
What will happen to us, regardless?  
  
  
//////////  
  
  
The third day of winter.  
  
The third day after their arrival.  
  
Tonight is the Kirifest, traditional celebration of the colder months. Its roots lie in a dance to tribal gods, so that fallow fields would be made fertile by spring. Even now such things are no longer believed. It is kept merely as an excuse for celebration, to show the latest fashions and jockey for power. It is known by now that my father doesn't play favorites., but lesser and more unscrupulous nobles will always compete amongst themselves.  
  
My gown is exotic by Lihallan standards, colors- deep forest green and gold- bright, unusually so. Winter colors of black, blue and violet will dominate tonight, and silver jewelry. Everything seems slightly out of phase. I am too used to electric lighting, harsh and constant- shadows shade most things here, blurring edges, highlighted by brilliant flashes of metal on the capricious whim of flame.  
  
A slim, woven gold band on my right wrist; another around my neck, with a heavy, beaten gold-and-silver charm shaped like the glyph the writing system here uses to represent my name. And the rings. Rings here denote status, and I have one for every finger on both hands, excepting only my left thumb. Signet, naming, set with precious gems in the hereditary colors of my lineage- paternity on the right, maternity on the left. I began wearing rings even at Garden, disliking the phantom absence I can feel when they're not there.  
  
I could find the grand hall blindfolded; the musicians are audible clear down the hall. The music is nothing I recognize, unfortunately, nothing that can help me pinpoint the date. It's vaguely baroque, which tells me only that the Lihallan Kingdom hasn't fallen yet. Helpful, that.  
  
I am not looking forward to this. A night filled with dancing, drinking, and lords jockeying for my favor.  
  
The moment my figure becomes apparent in the entryway there is a literal stampede towards me. In an instant I am surrounded by lordlings offering me drinks and men discussing loudly amongst themselves their many charms and holdings. I can't take a step, and I can feel the headache settling in. No such thing as aspirin, here.  
  
Music strikes up again, and I find myself besieged with demands for a dance. Accepting any would create bitterness among other suitors, but choosing none is impossible. They can't expect me to choose now, yet they act as if they have only to press hard enough and they will win.  
  
I try to step back, but I only hit the wall; they've blocked the entryway and anyway I certainly can't lave.  
  
Now what?  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
The glass in Syran's hand was still half-full of amber liquid, despite the wait that had stretched over forty-five minutes. Around him, established couples dance to lively strains; young children remain clustered near the food table under the care of an elderly matron; nobles who thought too highly of their own importance preen and posture in overbred groups.  
  
Hyne, he hated this sort of thing.  
  
But he had a reason, a very good reason, to be here.  
  
Who had just stepped through the door.  
  
For a moment, he just stood there and watched her. Beautiful, yes, and a strong caster, a fluke of birth which had come as a surprise to her father, scion of a magically barren line. But she was so much more and so much less than that. The lust for power and position had turned Naltaeri li'Halla into a symbol, a shadow. Only a step through the door she was surrounded by supplicants whose greedy eyes showed plainly that they cared little for her beyond surface desirability and royal heirship.  
  
If for no other reason than that, they did not deserve her.  
  
Of course, neither did he, for he wanted it just as much as they. Did wanting it out of the wrong hands make his any more the right? Did the ability to view Naltaeri as a person make her any less a path to power?  
  
In the end, perhaps, he was little better than they. But he needed her- needed the power- to hold his land together. Naltaeri's father was a good man, but a peaceful one. In such times that was dangerous. None of the inbred fops that called themselves nobles knew much more of fighting than that the pointy end of a sword went into the other man. Tempest could only do so much with the army without the king's approval.  
  
He had fought long and hard with himself, but in the end it wall came down to one simple fact. Lihalla was dying and vulnerable to attack. And, all modesty aside, he was just about the only one who could save it.  
  
It would mean war, bloodshed, death. It would mean using Naltaeri as a symbol, and it was a mercy that childhood memories of friendship had blurred far enough he could do it. It would mean sacrificing happiness- his, Naltaeri's, Tempest's- in exchange for survival. Not just theirs, but an entire nation's.  
  
He couldn't just walk away.  
  
Pushing through the crowd, he made his way towards his intended.  
  
  
//////////  
  
  
She'd been having trouble breathing, it seemed, lately; it was becoming harder to keep her head above water, harder to get things straight. Events piled up on each other into she couldn't tell which way was up anymore. She felt all out-of-sorts, confused, mind aching in a perpetual headache with the effort of suppressing things she didn't want to think about, didn't want to believe.  
  
It hadn't been that way before.  
  
Syran had changed everything.  
  
  
//////////  
  
  
He'd found her- sought her out, really, it must have been, for no casual unintentioned stroll could have come upon her, hidden amongst a copse of poplars and furls in the royal forests four klicks from the castle walls. She had no horse to betray her, made no sounds to draw attention; quite the contrary, she strove to keep her presence here hidden. In all truth she shouldn't have come here, should have known she would be missed, but she'd needed so desperately to break free and breathe. For the first time after opening her eyes to see stone walls instead of a dryboard she had wished to remain in Garden.  
  
She heard him approach, pinpointing it not from sound, for me made none, but rather by the lack thereof. Quistis had trained Seifer, and Naltaeri's ears remembered the absence of footfalls that marked Syran.  
  
"I thought you might still come here," his voice broke the silence, rich and resonant and with here yes closed he could easily have been Seifer, except for its tone. Syran sounded... resigned. Regretting. Sympathetic, yet sorry.  
  
She opened her eyes to him, half-leaning against a tree and watching her closely. He half-smiled, reaching up to touch a low-hanging branch. "We'd be out here for hours... we used to play house... you never liked it all that much, though..."  
  
Drawing her knees up to her chest and leaning against a tree, Naltaeri watched closely. They had played here? When? She didn't know; had none of those memories. But the haunting familiarity of the place lent a sad credence to his words.  
  
His hand dropped, and he sighed. "I'm sorry, Naltaeri. I'm going to have to ask you to play again."  
  
She met his gaze levelly, hopelessly, knowing as well as he did his meaning and his reasons.  
  
"Naltaeri-" he shook his head in frustration, then pushed off his tree and came to crouch before her, taking her right hand in his. For a moment both their gazes caught on the ring encircling her thumb. First Child. Heir apparent.  
  
Then jade eyes flicked upward to pierce her sapphire. "I won't lie to you, Naltaeri. I respect you. I know you're more than a beautiful, empty-headed symbol." His other hand brushed her cheek, and the sudden intimacy of the gesture was not lost on her. "But that's what I have to ask you to be.  
  
"How long do we have left? A few years? Less? Before the Galbriands make strip steak of us? You know it's coming. You're not stupid. Your father is blind, too willing to believe the best of everyone. None of those silly nobles can stop it. I can. I will."  
  
He raked bangs out of his hair and regarded her regretfully. "If it makes any difference, I'm sorry it had to be this way. Princess or not, you deserve a little happiness. You'll have all of it I can give you, but precious little I fear it will be, and there's scant time for it anyway. I'm asking you to marry for survival, not for love. I don't want it to be this way any more than you do. Please don't think I'm heartless, Naltaeri. I remember what your laugh used to sound like, and I want to hear it again, but it won't do you any good as a Galbriand captive." He stopped there, afraid he'd said too much. Afraid he'd been too sympathetic. Afraid he'd given her some hint he cared as more than a friend. It would be too cruel. He couldn't afford to love, not when his every waking minute would be devoted to war. If he died on the battlefield, he would leave her a widow, but [/please Hyne/] not inconsolable.  
  
She tilted her head back to brace against the tree, closing her eyes slowly, and twin tears slipped from her eyes. She wiped them away impatiently, but not before he saw them, and guessed what they were for, and hated himself that he couldn't offer her love or contentment. But the needs of the many would always outweigh the needs of the few- [/or the one/]- and when he spoke his voice was firm.  
  
"Lihalla is dying. All I'm asking is that you help me save it." All he was asking. Her life, her happiness, her freedom. What was too high a price for survival? At what point did it simply become too much?  
  
Such thoughts would drive him mad.  
  
"What say you, Naltaeri?"  
  
Behind closed eyes, she wept.  
  
"Yes, Syran."  
  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Aaaaand that's a wrap! Yay! A chapter! And it's fairly long, too! *proud of self*  
  
Quistis88: *hands a band-aid* sorry about that, it's all in good fun. And so far there's really only been one clue... everything else is just out there in black-and-white. :)  
  
Ripley: Wow, a fellow HR lover! Awesome :) And thanks, too, for the nice words... I was really trying to make it different. So, when will we be seeing more of "Get Off My Cloud"? :p which rocks so much more than this...   
  
DragonLadyKira: Clicking is good... this is going to be one of those fics where, after you've read it all and figured it out, you'll look back and say "It's so obvious! Why didn't I get it right away?" If you've got it already, you're waaaay ahead of the curve. ^^v  
  
seyanaidi: Yes, different names. Funfun, ne? And I've got another test tomorrow... cross your fingers.  
  
Vanilla Tiger: I can easily picture Quisty living two lives, because she's insecure enough to become dependent on both... and she's got that frame of mind that's deep and wrapped... can't really describe it better than that... if you've ever experienced it you'll know what I mean.  
  
Dragon Princess Isis: Thank you very much! ^^v  
  
Cyrell: Yay! You're back! And you're stroking my ego! Wai! I do hope I'm keeping her in character... it's not always easy. Writing in first person means putting a lot of me into Quistis... sometimes I think too much, but that's the price you pay.  
  
*cue Squall!*  
  
Squall: "...whatever."  
  
[a stagehand runs quickly onstage and hands him a new script.]  
  
Squall: *yawn* "...review."  
  
Lyaka: --;; "Could you maybe sound a little more interested?"  
  
*sigh*  
  
Lyaka ^^  
  
|  
|  
\/ 


	4. invasion

Wow, it's... eheh... been a while, hmm? *winces* okay, well, you all (if there still is a "you all" at this point) have my permission to beat me up and unleash the evil mutant soul-eating daises on me. I have no excuse. No, scratch that; I have several excuses, none of which are good enough.  
  
Short version? I broke down. Between college apps (I'm Hopkins bound!), an utter lack of direction, and starting work on my novel (the original one) I just broke down and stopped. Working. On. Anything. At All. And unfortunately, Dreams was one of those things.  
  
I'm really upset about it, actually. I had done so well with ~Hourglass~ and then I went and dropped Dreams for nearly eight months. That really gets me, especially since I tend to have fic-finishing issues.  
  
But! I really am back this time. Why am I so sure? Because now, dear friends, I know the ending. That's right: I was cleaning out my computer to switch over to my brand-new laptop (minna, meet Satsuki-chan) and I found my old files. And then I realized, when I got to the end of dreams3, that there was no more. And then I checked the date on ff.net and really started feeling guilty. Then my muses showed up and (taking pity on me) gave me the rest of the plot.  
  
Again, apologies. I think we're really gonna make it this time. Keep me up to the mark :p  
  
Without further ado...  
  
----------------  
  
_In Dreams_  
  
----------------  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
He certainly hasn't wasted any time.  
  
I can feel the change in the very air of the castle. Everyone- servants, pages and ministers alike- moving more quickly, more purposefully, more intent.  
  
By now the world must know that my father has one foot in the grave and the other following quickly. A useful excuse for the sudden engagement, for the haste of the fast-approaching wedding date. Already Syran is king in all but name.  
  
And what am I, I wonder. Absently I thumb my rinds. My engagement sapphire has replaced the old ring marking me scion of my line. Syran has it now, as signet. It makes me less.  
  
I'm wearing boots instead of slippers, and the slightly raised hells clack harshly against he stone floor. They're not the well-broken-in leather back in Garden, but the rough Hexadragon hide is strong and makes me feel more like my other self- more like Quistis. I need to be Quistis now. I need the training she had.  
  
How much will Naltaeri remember when we're separated? I can only hope she's had some basic teaching. At any rate she's the sense to keep her mouth shut and nod.  
  
My approach isn't a secret by any means, and I can hear the voices in the war room fall silent three steps before I appear in the doorway.  
  
"Princess," a dozen voices greet with uncertain deference, unspoken question clear. Only Syran says nothing, jade eyes inscrutable, watching, analyzing, not giving anything away. Lykouleon is not there; together with the other councillors he attends my father's deathbed. I do not visit him in his last days, leaving that task for Naltaeri. Quistis has never known a father; she could not bear to bid one farewell.  
  
Which am I, now, I wonder. Neither, perhaps.  
  
My gaze shifts to the simulation spread on the table below and I repress a sigh. Miniatures, clay and wood, modeling a defense pattern.  
  
"Awful," I breathe, without even realizing it.  
  
One of the underministers bristles, wagging a finger at me. "My plan is certainly not awful, young lady. Perhaps if you'd had some military training-"  
  
"Look at this, for Hyne's sake," I snap, incensed. "You're practically inviting them in. Any commander with klad for brains could get around this! They'd leave a token force here, sweep under here, dart past your three guards over there and be at the capital before we knew it!"  
  
The underminister was gaping in astonishment, and he wasn't alone. Only Syran seemed unsurprised, leaning forward, definite satisfaction in those eyes. "Do go on," he murmured. "How would you do it, Instructor?"  
  
Ministers tittered, thinking he mocked me, but I felt ice grip me suddenly. Nothing showed on his face, nothing that meant anything one way or another, but I knew. I'd slipped overplayed my hand. Revealed, too much, if he really knew.  
  
No way out, if he did; nothing to do.  
  
Nothing to do but go on as I'd began.  
  
"Anything for my favorite student," I tossed over my shoulder, not daring to look back as I moved clay figures and ministers murmured afresh. He said nothing until I'd finished, only coming up behind me to watch in silence.  
  
"Hmmm," he says.  
  
A younger minister with more righteousness than sense takes that as his cue. "This wouldn't do at all," he declares impetuously, sweeping me a look that means to be condescending but succeeds only in appearing facile. "Absolutely ridiculous. Of course it's only to be expected. Perhaps if you'd had some proper training, my dear..."  
  
Syran raised a neutral eyebrow. "Perhaps if you'd show us how you'd break that defense..."  
  
"But certainly," he says smugly, moving up to the table. "Firstly, I move cavalry here."  
  
"Artillery in the pass," I counter from the other side of the model, moving the hidden clay cannons into the open.  
  
He shrugged. "Once they're occupied, I move my infantry around the opposite edge."  
  
Will they never get it? No SeeD cadet was so clueless as this. "Two troops heavy cavalry, three troops light. Having decimated your cavalry, a third of the artillery falls back and disperses, backing up the spread around the mountain."  
  
The minister blinked in shock. "Well... um... *my* artillery drives down the center, clearing your cavalry!"  
  
They always fall for it. "The artillery in the back engages yours. The unmoved guns target your left flank. The other three heavy cavalry falls on your right, and a quarter of my infantry wraps around and cuts you off. You're dead in about three seconds, and the other quarter of my infantry on this side- still fresh- backs up the drive through your reserve troops. Oh, and don't forget I've still half the cavalry, an artillery brigade and half the infantry on the other side of the bowl, so don't bother with a two-pronged attack." I was really involved now, forgetting that this wasn't my classroom, that these weren't my students. "In this case you must use the superior terrain to compensate for a smaller force," I lectured the top military minds of Lihalla. "Contrary to conventional military wisdom, the lower ground is an advantage here; we trade space for time and men and come out ahead. For best results, two of the four passes should be permanently blocked-" my finger marked off the chosen passes, the two behind the city, so as to keep our enemies coming at us from one general direction. "Station artillery in the other two, keep a guard on perimeter, then distribute. You'll want more cavalry on this side, since it's steeper, so it'll come out lopsided, but this is a classic example of when and how to apply Bernoulli's defense."  
  
I looked up from the table in time to take in the view: thirteen wide-eyed, slack-jawed, dumbstruck ministers and advisors. Twelve of them hastily attempted to cover their surprise. The oldest, and perhaps the wisest, regarded me respectfully. "An excellent plan, Princess. I confess I've never heard of hits... Bernoulli? Where did you learn of him, and gain such an excellent grasp of tactics?"  
  
"Ah-" had I said Bernoulli out loud? He was part of the curriculum, but wouldn't develop his strategies on warfare until the Fourth Galbadian Succession, less than a century before the Second Sorceress War. "I've, um, spent a lot of time reading lately," I temporized. "You'd be surprised, ah, how many books deal with tactics."  
  
"I certainly was," Syran puts in dryly, the first words he's spoken since the challenge. "Did you happen to read Dr. Ross' work?"  
  
His eyes caught mine and I knew, damn it, he knew and I knew he knew too.  
  
"I've always been a fan of Aki's theories," I managed.  
  
"Are any of these masters still alive?" the eldest minister queried. "Perhaps they can assist."  
  
"I doubt it," Syran said. "And they shan't hear anything from me." The decision was clear, and the minister bowed.  
  
"Nor from I," I whispered.  
  
"Then, now with our plan, we are dismissed. Make it happen," Syran ordered.  
  
He offered me his hand for escort. I took it, and our pact was sealed.  
  
Once reaching my rooms, soon to be vacated, he releases me. I take a few steps into the fire-lit space before his whisper halts me.  
  
"Quistis..."  
  
I stop and swallow, then turn sideways.  
  
"Yes, Seifer?"  
  
I could hear him let out his breath from half the room away. His hand moved then stopped before he could make some gesture. His lips parted, as if he was about to say something, but he shook his head, and said only "I'm sorry."  
  
As he turned, I saw the light in his eyes flicker and die. Walking away, I could see from the stride alone that it was a different man.  
  
Suddenly alone, suddenly lost, I flung myself onto the bed and fell headlong into darkness.  
  
//////////  
  
I expected nothing from him, and it seems he felt the same, because there were no more messages, no more signs or double meanings. On either end. I saw him only once in Garden, at the weekly update, before he went on assignment in Dollet, two days ago.  
  
I went back once more, but he wasn't there. The time was taken up with last-minute wedding preparations, surreality at its finest. I suppose some part of me still expected a white gown and a veil, but Lihallan princesses throw back to tribal tradition, and the dress looks like nothing so much as an exotic bikini halter and long flaring silk pants gathering to a gold-lined cuff three inches above the ankle. In the dead of winter, no less- small comfort that Syran wears an open vest. Pins were stuck into me for hours before I escaped, and I only made it halfway to the library before I opened my eyes in the cafeteria, Zell inhaling hot dogs a foot from my face. I turned away. More and more I felt different here, like an outsider. Lihalla was becoming more and more my home. War, battle, death- at least back then there is a culture about it. We may be warriors, but there is no reason to be uncivilised about it.  
  
//////////  
  
I awaken to chaos, a swirl of confusion so strong it cuts through five senses to make even Quezacotl shriek in protest. All my GFs are crying out, in fact, screaming at me to get up, get up, do something! Their cries are shocking and familiar all at once. They were once more frequent; every time I was back attacked I was warned by them, but as I've grown in power they've become less so. Now they cry out again, scrambling my thoughts with primal warnings of imminent danger.  
  
But I am in my bedchamber, and there is naught about but the curtains and blankets of my bed. Still instincts are so strongly driven in me that I leap to my feat, nearly tangling myself in silken overhang and tripping over cushions as I scramble to my feet. Once having achieved them I pause. SeeD instinct drives me to battle, but there is no opponent. What is going on?  
  
Unbidden the presences in my head chime in. I don't have Ifrit anymore, but I was planning a demonstration today for my Advanced GFs class, and I'm overstocked. Doomtrain and Quezzy jostle with Diablos and Alexander, and poor Carbuncle is nearly crushed beneath them as they clamor to be let out, to fight. I resist their pull. [What's going on?] I demand, sidestepping the piles of blanket and pillow spilling from the overstuffed bed to pad the carpet. [What's got you all so excited?]  
  
Their voices clamor in my head, fragmented and disjointed. Finally Alexander silences them and speaks directly to me. [Battle.]  
  
[Nowhere near!]  
  
A moment of silence. [Perhaps you were wrong.] His voice is directed inwards.  
  
Quezacotl speaks out in his defense. [We were not wrong. Our bringer values the time-of-long-past as well as the time-that-is-now.] His voice turns to me. [The blue-coated ones who smell of gunpowder have given Eden's fruits and Eden's children as offering to Ifrit, and Sacred and Minotaur are bathed in Devour.]  
  
Instantly I am out the door and running down the hall. [Where?]  
  
[Five summons from this child of the Brothers,] Doomtrain gives answer.  
  
[Shit!] The Guardians recoil, unused to human invective, but I have no time to soothe them as I run headlong into Syran's door. It's locked, and no amount of banging can rouse Seifer from sleep. I back up a step or two and focus my mind. "Firaga!" It flies open.  
  
Perhaps Syran could sleep through an earthquake, but fire is one of his prime elements, and he is jerked from Diablos' embrace to the harsh realties of this time. "Naltaeri?" His instincts are products of an earlier time, but fire calls to fire and he is on his feet before he is fully awakened. "What is wrong?"  
  
"We've been invaded!" I grab his hand and pull him out of his room. "The Galbadians-"  
  
"Who?" He wrenches his hand from mine and pins me with his gaze. "Naltaeri, you're talking nonsense."  
  
I meet his eyes and silently curse. I'm not used to this time, the slowness of communication, the lengthened reaction times, and my own altered position. In Garden my word on invasion would rouse armies in seconds, and confirmation would be a matter of minutes. "The Galbriands, I mean." Another problem: names. Then another thought occurs to me. [You are sure it was the blue-coated ones who smell of gunpowder as it is in the time-that-now?] I demand silently.  
  
[They are the ones who will become the blue-coated-ones. They are now those who smell like gunpowder. There is no mistake.]  
  
"Naltaeri, I'm sorry," Syran said in a calming tone. "I shouldn't have told you how much we knew about their military, you've gotten all excited... it's my own fault for letting you in on the councils, but it's not good for you. There's been no word of invasion."  
  
"It's happened!" I insist. "Five hundred kilometers from here, they've burned crops and towns!"  
  
"Naltaeri..."  
  
[Let me.] Alexander slips from me, and I remember too late that he was normally Seifer's- I couldn't hold him from his true host. Before I could call a warning he'd entered Syran's mind, and he froze before me, jade eyes wide and shocked.  
  
[Shit, shit, shit!] Rational thought and royal dignity be damned; if anyone walked down the halls and saw this there would be serious trouble. I shove the unresponsive Syran headlong into his chambers and bodily yank the heavy stone doorway into place. Then, sweating, I exert some measure of control over Alexander. [Return! Now!]  
  
[Request violates Garden protocol 301.33b.] Damn it, when did Alexander get Seifer's sense of humor?  
  
[First junction occurred approximately 3.14159 years before last chronometer check, radical psi plus or minus time compression differential.]  
  
[That is not funny! Get back here! Now!]  
  
[Unnecessary. Subject has been briefed.]  
  
Syran is looking coherent again, and the look in his eyes as he stares at me makes me uncomfortable. "How- what- damn," he finishes. "It's because you have the ability to cast, isn't it?"  
  
[Points for being quick on his feet,] Alexander quips as he slides back into my head, almost carelessly destroying a memory of blocks on a rainy day. I resist the urge to never summon him again.  
  
"That's exactly it," I say as reassuringly as I can manage, snatching the opportunity offered. "I know it sounds fantastic, but believe me, I can tell, and we're under attack."  
  
"Right." He strides over to his closet and pulls his shirt over his head, not bothering with modesty before his betrothed. I mean to turn, but a cruel fascination rivets my eyes. Even in such a time, without the benefit of rigorous training, I recognize physical peak when I see it, understated muscles rippling in the maliciously flickering light of the single candle that has burned through the night to mark the time. The future king cannot be expected to rely on the hourly bells.  
  
"Come on," and that fast the spell, barely begun, is shattered like so much spun glass, cutting deep into my self. He strides out the door.  
  
"Where to?" He grabs my wrist and breaks into a jog. I run after him, soft slippers on grey stone, dreams on reality, cast in relief. Somewhere in the distance lightning strikes out of a clear sky.  
  
"Where else?" He stops outside a door all too familiar. "Are you sure, Naltaeri?" he asks softly, breaking character just once.  
  
Lately it's been hard to breathe.  
  
"I'm sorry, Syran."  
  
"No." He turned away and gazed through the hallway with unseeing eyes. "That's my line. We almost made it, huh?" He smiled crookedly. "One day till the wedding. We could have had a traditional wedding. I wanted it to be nice. For you."  
  
I look down. "It won't be, will it."  
  
Now he looks at me, jade eyes intense. "We're at war, Naltaeri. It's over. All of it's over. If we're to have any chance of survival. We're not ready. You've seen the briefings, you know. I thought it would be a year from now, two..."  
  
I shake my head. "Now. It's always now for us."  
  
He looks at me sharply, shadows obscuring the look in his eyes. "Perhaps it is."  
  
"I'll get the war ministers." I turn and run, hating myself for a coward but unable to endure conversation any longer. Color melts from the surrounding objects, throwing my familiar home into relief, marking it a strange land where horrors lurk. I ran, but the shadows of my own making could never be escaped.  
  
The third minister whose bedroom I invaded was the one who informed me of my father's death.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
The door is closed behind her, and she leans against it, a rare moment of weakness hidden by the vestibule from servants and prying eyes. Inside, the low hum of voices breaks off, then resumes again, Syran's rough bass leading them all. Everyone is delivered, and now there is nothing more to be done. Nothing more for my betrothed, nothing more for my people, nothing to be done but wait.  
  
And I wonder, a trifle bitterly, if this is how I will spend the rest of my life, waiting. Waiting at Garden for missions that never come. One of the Great Heroes of the War will not be called for simple, trifling little disputes. Garden had become merely the place she waited to come here, to come home. And now she waited for the morrow, that she might offer herself to my husband, whose affection for her might be measured in the fact that he alone had been honest enough to tell the truth about her marriage: she was power, a symbol, and a sacrifice. Once married, she could spend the rest of her life waiting for him; but he would not come.  
  
She was caught in a holding pattern, in an endlessly repetitive series of events that would not change for someone as insignificant as she. She would spend the rest of her Garden days repeating the same lectures, in the same halls, to the same blank looks on faces only subtly different. Waiting... to come here. And when she was here, there would be nothing for her to do but wait to go back, wait for fighting to reach her, because fighting was all that she knew how to do. She didn't know how to live. She didn't know how to love. It didn't matter. The fighting was all that mattered, and in the fighting was everything else destroyed.  
  
Her purpose in the life into which she had been born had been fulfilled the moment Ultimecia lay dead at their feet. She had come to love Lihalla dearly, but now she looked at the stone walls bitterly. Her purpose here would be fulfilled when she had given herself and her power to Syran.  
  
She could have loved him, had she had a chance. Hyne knew Naltaeri always had.  
  
Naltaeri loved her people, too.  
  
There was simply nothing to be done- no help for it, no way out.   
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Syran lay there in the grey half-light before dawn, trying not to feel beyond the press of linen on bare skin, the weight of coverlets heavy on a burdened soul. The last echo of the fifth bell had faded. In two bells, at seven, he had his first official all-hands meeting as king. He would have had it yesterday, the moment the marriage and coronation were complete, but some traditions could not be broken, and among them was the wedding night.  
  
And so he had a handful of time here, blocked off by heavy brocade drapes, defined by pillows and sheets and Naltaeri's soft warm body pressed so trustingly against him. Still asleep and looking childlike, fragile and oh so innocent, still. She'd been innocent, damn him, and damn every foolish young noble who'd claimed her. He hadn't wanted that from her, didn't deserve such a precious gift when it was given the only time he could give here anything, on the eve of a life in which she could have no part. Mysteriously acquired knowledge notwithstanding. He knew what he was doing to her, and it cut at him, but not as much as it would if he did to her what he was doing to himself.  
  
She shifted slightly, her sleep cycle coming to its end. He held her more tightly and buried his face in her hair, head resting against his neck, as if by those simple acts he could just shut it all out, stop time and hold Naltaeri and himself in this moment forever. Syran wanted nothing more.  
  
It was into that endless, precious moment that she awoke.  
  
He loosed his hold immediately, but she only adjusted herself marginally against him. Her eyes when she glanced upward timidly were shadowed sapphire that kept no secrets. In vain he searched for that strange gold glint that had been appearing of late. Nothing. It didn't make this any easier.  
  
"Did you sleep well?" The words slipped past his guard, let out unwillingly. A clean break was hopeless, but to drag it out...  
  
She looked at his, only looked, and something like hurt flashed through her eyes. "Well enough," said softly. "The last time, I suspect."  
  
A queen's voice. He's prepared himself for silence, tears, emotion, but this cold, detached sovereignty hurt more than anything else could have. It was his voice, the ruler, ruthlessly focused on the greater good while he ordered the people he cared most about into their own personal hells. Aching, he again pressed his cheek to her golden hair, seeking a solace that he knew could never be found. Given up, sacrificed for the sake of survival.  
  
Hyne help him if he dreamt regardless, even as he knew his dreams for false hopes he was far better off without.  
  
"Forgiveness, Naltaeri." His voice betrayed him.  
  
She looked away. "It is given."  
  
He sighed, uncoiling into the bed in a boneless heap. Emotionless, flat, still those words more precious than any sound in the world, any save one- her voice in the night, crying out for him. He treasured that call, locked it away in his heart as the move valuable of all the treasures in the world, that he might draw it out when he needed it most. He would never hear it more. "Thank you."  
  
Perhaps she heard something in his traitorous voice, for she touched his cheek, and the walls so recently erected fell behind her eyes. "How much longer?"  
  
Syran cursed himself for a fool. That meeting should have been earlier, he should have left before she'd awoken... but holding her in his arms then... he couldn't have brought himself to let go. He would cherish the feel of her the rest of his days; even as he lay cold and alone on a cot in the war room or half a lonely bed he would remember how it felt to hold her close, would cradle her ghost within him. It would bring no warmth; nor would the dawn, this day, still too far and yet too impossibly close. "Two bells, maybe less."  
  
She sighed, looking once above her, then at him. "Until you must go," she asked, holding her voice steady, "will you hold me?"  
  
Hyne damn him for a fool. "Naltaeri..." He pulled her close against him, clutching her tight, too tight, but she made no protest. How he wished to utter those empty, vapid platitudes, the luxuries of other men; to tell her that he would never let her go. Not for they those clichés; only the knowledge of what once, briefly, was, and could never be again. He should spare her that. He should.  
  
But they lay there together until the ringing of the seventh bell.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Hey, look! An ending!  
  
^^;;; so it's back. And alive. And *crosses fingers* breathing.  
  
seiferfetish: tell you what- i'll send you a free copy of my first novel if you promise to write a long, gushy letter of praise (truth in letter is irrelevant) ^^;;;  
  
Quistis88: Okay... so now I feel like I failed you. Well, here's more... it wasn't soon... but it's here...  
  
seyenaidni: Yo. (sorry, running out of things to say ^^;;;)  
  
Ripley: I need a support group to finish these things. I note that you got done way ahead of me, and did far better than I ever could. :) At least someone has motivation...  
  
Mintaka: less confusion? I hope? let me know.  
  
amy: awkward won't even begin to cover what's going to happen in the next chapter... stay tuned. I swear it'll be out soon.  
  
Cyrell: heh. they'll connect, all right. I direct your attention to the above reference to the next chapter. Hoo boy. I love doing this to characters...  
  
And a general shoutout to Tennyo Tears. Trust me, people, without her we'd really have been in trouble. I owe all my motivation to her. You rock, girl.  
  
Lyaka ^^  
  
(to keep the motivation going, it's permissible to feed the author) 


	5. questioning

*pats self on back* I finished another part! Yay! Okay, it's a bit shorter, but I like to think it's more wham to the word, ne? And at least this way I'm sticking to my (somewhat) usual update schedule. I don't like dragging things out... I'm very impatient... so I'd rather keep it shorter and more frequent. ^^v  
  
On a good note, this fic isn't going to be as long as ~Hourglass~. As a matter of fact, it'll be drawing to a close soon. I'm not exactly sure how many chapters, and I know any prediction I make is going to be wrong- just /because/- so I won't make one, but at the absolute latest- accounting for incredible writers' block, evil muses, really, really bad problems and a complete shutdown of Internet access for two weeks- this baby will be done before I leave for college on August 30th. I'm shooting more for mid-August, but we'll see. It all depends on the reviews... how's that for a timetable, hmm? :p  
  
Last note: the action's going to start coming a bit more closely together. We're in the end times now.  
  
Not mine!  
  
----------------  
  
_In Dreams_  
  
----------------  
  
//////////  
  
There's colors all around me, dancing through my line of sight. I spin to follow them but they've gone, replaced by sparkling diamonds against inky blackness and if I didn't know better I would think it's the sky. But of course it's not. How could it be, when I stand on nothingness, and suddenly the diamonds are sakura petals and one by one they fall from heaven.  
  
I can feel myself falling, and the world rumbles around me, conflicting and tearing until it shakes itself apart and the pieces are falling with me, and they're all the memories of every soul that's ever been born and lived and loved and dreamed and died, light and dark, and despite my angel's wings we fall right into hell.  
  
Wasn't that a song? On the radio, at the orphanage, long ago:  
  
/We watched them as we grew up and watched them as they fell.../  
  
/Some of them fell into heaven, some of them fell into hell.../  
  
Matron's singing it now, I push open the door and go in and help her set the table because that's my job, and I don't use the napkins as coloring paper like Selphie or throw the knives like Squall or Seifer, and Irvine's bringing the cups behind me and I steal a sip from mine because I'm thirsty and we've got grape juice today. Then I'm supposed to go get Zell and Selphie to come in and bring out the plates, and they're watching TV, so I go in there but neither of them seems to have noticed that it's not cartoons on but some boring adult show, the kind that Matron never lets us watch, and it's not even interesting at all, just a bunch of people running and loud noises and an awful lot of cranberry juice.  
  
Voices, dimly in the background. "Quistis!"  
  
Someone wants me? I start moving through the house in search of the voice.  
  
"Quistis!" I run, hurrying towards the voice. I don't even notice when my feet take me outside, over the cliff face of the lighthouse. I can feel myself falling, and the world rumbles around me.  
  
"Quistis!"  
  
And then all the colors were gone.  
  
My eyes open slowly, light stabbing through them to reveal the infirmary, Dr. Kadowaki's face hovering over me. I groan involuntarily, then wince at the pain the attempt at breathing deeply brings.  
  
"How do you feel?"  
  
"Like I just fought Ultimecia." Sitting up was a worthless effort; I'd just be pushed back down, and not gently. Dr. Kadowaki was an excellent physician, and she mothered everyone impartially when they were healthy and just needed to talk, but when it came to the injured she had a bedside manner like an angry Sorceress. Heh. Kurse all rekkless SeeD kadets... I laugh breathlessly, but it's not worth it, pain shooting immediately up my sides. Kadowaki glares pointedly at me and I subside.  
  
"What happened?" I ask, grateful that talking doesn't produce much more than a dull ache, at least as long as I keep my voice low and breaths shallow. The one deep inhalation attempted earlier was still lighting nerves on fire.  
  
"Accident in the training center," she said shortly. "Cadet Inglai failed to summon his GF while under attack. You overloaded." Overloaded: an understatement if ever I heard one. I couldn't remember exactly what I'd done, but for me to be feeling this way it had to be the magical equivalent of lifting a mountain without a warmup. "Is he okay?"  
  
"Minor lacerations, GF rejection trauma," Kadowaki said briskly, bringing over a tray loaded down with instruments I'd seen elsewhere only in Esthar. The good doctor had been thrilled at the chance to get her hands on that technology, and Quistis had to admit that sometimes the mechanical cures worked better than magical ones. The problem, of course, was that magical cures attempted to fix everything, whereas instruments could be directed at specific points. It was like curing cancer: better to wipe out only the infected cells then to simply wipe out everything you could and hope you got all the bad cells before all the good cells died. Esthar reportedly was close to figuring out a way to do that, too. It would make chemotherapy obsolete.  
  
"Hold still," Kadowaki instructed, doing a number of incomprehensible things. "Unfortunately, Inglai's lost his water junction."  
  
"Shit." I closed my eyes. I'd only given him Siren, a low-level, normally friendly GF, ideal for cadets just learning to cast. What could have gone wrong?  
  
Kadowaki senses my need for more information. "It's no one's fault," she told me. "Siren conflicted. Inglai had very strong memories of water, and he got confused. Instead of merely summoning Siren, he ejected her, burning out his junction in the process."  
  
I sighed. An accident. Yes, they happened; thankfully rarely, but never pleasant. "Her status?"  
  
"He's still in contention with his fire junction, and we /think/ we can encourage an affinity for earth. It was a blip when we tested him; with conditioning he may be able to use it more strongly. Regardless, he can make SeeD on one junction. He wouldn't be the first." I smile, thinking of my lone wind affinity.  
  
"At any rate," Kadowaki begins rearranging her instruments, "he's already back to classes, so I need you to focus on- what's this?" She frowned, tapping the LCD readout mounted on the tray, then running another instrument over me. "Just a second," she said comfortingly. "I must have forgotten to recalibrate this one." She takes it to a cabinet and exchanges it for an identical machine. "I need you to focus on rebuilding your mental pathways," she continues, pressing buttons and running the new dial over me, "you've buried a few of your lower junction slots over this, and- that's /impossible/!" she exclaimed, junction slots forgotten as she stared first at the display, then me. "You're- that just can't be." She sets the instrument down resolutely, then begins running a hand down my abdomen, pressing at places. It doesn't hurt, but she frowns anyway. "I don't understand it," she mutters, "I just don't... SCAN!"  
  
Cool blue light runs over me, comforting and soothing the aches, but I'm more worried than before. Dr. Kadowaki /never/ doesn't understand something, and she's stopped using scans since the more specific, more reliable medical technology came along. Scans were primarily intended for battle, and so it wasn't ideal for her work...  
  
"Kuso!" The blue light melts away and I stare, wide-eyed. That's the first time I've ever heard her curse. Then she turns accusing eyes on me. "Quistis," she said firmly. "I need you to answer me."  
  
I blink, confused. "Yeah, whatever you need to know, Doc," I acquiesce.  
  
She fixes me with her piercing stare. "I was under the impression that you did not regularly practice sexual activity. You do know that under Garden policy, you are entitled to a regular dispensation of birth control pills as well as intermittent morning after pulls and anonymity about their reception-"  
  
"Yes, I know!" Am I really blushing? I thought I broke that habit. "I know. And I've never needed them. Your, ah, impression, is correct."  
  
"Really?" she pressed.  
  
"Yes, really!"  
  
She sighed. "Your physical state abets that, but..."  
  
"But?"  
  
"Your hormone levels are consistent with that of a woman six months pregnant."  
  
I sit bolt upright, and it's a measure of the seriousness of the situation that Dr. Kadowaki doesn't immediately push me back down. As it is I nearly black out and have to clutch the headboard for balance. "That's impossible!" I protest. "Wouldn't it show?"  
  
"Yes, it would," she agreed. "Your physical appearance is normal. There is the noticeable absence of a fetus. I also cannot detect any of the common symptoms- you haven't been having morning sickness, dizziness, nausea...?"  
  
"No! And I haven't slept with anyone either..." I really haven't, it's not the sort of thing that could happen without me knowing it, and it's not like I leave my body for long jaunts at a time; dreaming is always instantaneous...  
  
Suspicious begins to dawn on me.  
  
Before I have time to think it though, though, I make a fatal mistake.  
  
I blink.  
  
//////////  
  
I've had practice, by now, in remembering things quickly. It's always harder on this end, but establishing my surroundings is a SeeD-taught function. Curtains, blankets, pillows. Bed. Enclosed. Empty.  
  
And immediately I commit to memory where I was before I blinked, the words, the location, the conversation. I have to pick it up right the second I get back, and not make a single slip. It's getting easier. Too easy, as I learn to live in two minds at once.   
  
But Quistis is being put on a shelf somewhere in my head, next to Instructor and SeeD and Off-Duty all the other personas I don't need at the moment. Naltaeri. She's the one I need.  
  
Actually, no, she's not the one I need. What day is it? How long have I been out? What's going on? Where is my husband?  
  
Husband. I shiver and am reminded of the fact anew when I try to stand up. I stumble and nearly fall, my entire center of balance shifted backwards to compensate for my extra weight. I run a hand down my front, unbelieving as flatness blossoms out to a gently rounded curve. I suspected this, predicted this, but wasn't nearly prepared. I'm... pregnant. It's odd. Immediately, instinctively, the trained part of my mind begins reassessing modes of physical combat, adjusting for this new, unexpected weak point, rearranging plans, reflexes, even instincts to compensate. Automatically, directed by that part of my mind, I reach to shift my whip a few inches forward in adjustment for reach before they brush empty air and I remember I'm in a loosened dress instead of combat garb.  
  
Walking is easier with practice as I move out into the hallways. It's after midday, the candle in my room assured me; but I didn't need to know that to know where Syran would be. The war room, of course. I know the way.  
  
Unfortunately the designer of the castle didn't take into account that the king might need to reach the war room quickly, and it's a goodly distance from my chambers. For my usual self it wouldn't be a problem; Hyne knew I'd run back and forth to various quarters the last night I'd been here. I shoved that memory away angrily, along with thoughts of my own weakness, and persevered; but this new way of walking was unusual and tiring, and I was forced to stop and lean against the wall, catching my breath, one hand unconsciously going to rub my stomach in silent reassurance to the child within. It amazed me, and I stood there longer than necessary, eyes going out of focus as I reached inside of me. I'd never expected to be a mother, not in the lifestyle I'd chosen. I still wouldn't, of course, but there was something... special... about it. A liability, to be sure; a nuisance, undoubtedly, at times; but strangely empowering, strangely comforting. It focused me, centered my in a way I'd never known.  
  
Unfortunately, I also noticed a desire to sit and be coddled, comforted, and protected. While that may have been appropriate at one point in mankind's history- along with the pheromones I was no doubt producing, to induce males to offer said protection- right now it was damned inconvenient. Especially if Syran started wanting to "protect" me from information.  
  
I started moving again, but had barely achieved the hallway at the end of which was the war room when I heard Lykouleon's voice, loud and angry. Startled, for it was as unlike Lykouleon to raise his voice as Squall, I stopped dead and listened closely. "Damn it, Syran, what the fuck is wrong with you?"  
  
Shock rippled through me. Syran and Lykouleon were close, closer than brothers, at times, and it was beyond out-of-character for Lykouleon to say something of that caliber to Syran.   
  
"I need the reports for the Third Division," Syran's voice was saying tightly, "and-"  
  
"Fuck your reports!" Lykouleon again. He /never/ cursed. "Don't you care about anything else? I was talking with the doctor yesterday, and he said you hadn't seen him in four months!"  
  
"I have more important things to be doing," he snapped.   
  
Unable to move, she retained enough sense of self to cast scan through the door, trusting to Syran's dormant abilities and Lykouleon's agitation- and her own higher competence level- to conceal the move. Syran was bent over the main desk, seemingly completely focused on the papers and diagrams laying there, but his darting eyes revealed that more of his attention than he would have admitted was focused on his pacing brother. "More important?" he repeated incredulously. "I am sick and tired of your bullshit, Syran. And you'd better know I'm not the only one. Naltaeri was unconscious for three days and all you cared about was your Hyne damned reports! Don't you care if she miscarries?"  
  
She froze, motionless no longer by choice, the horrible word echoing throughout her head. That was why she'd been in her bed after midday? Was she in that bad of shape? She didn't feel like it, but... she focused inwards, scanning herself now. Problems became clear the deeper she dove. Quistis was not a physician, and she's never dealt with pregnancy before. What she /had/ dealt with was magical backlash. She supposed it made sense, if Naltaeri's pregnancy could backlash to Quistis' hormone levels, that Quistis' junction damage could feedback to Naltaeri's internal regulation. That, she could fix, and fix it she did, applying spells quickly and carefully, masking them from the outside world. It was not an instantaneous process, but it could continue independently now. She turned her attention outwards. The war room faded in, and she wondered if she'd even missed anything. Syran still ignored Lykouleon, who still paced. He raked a hand through his hair angrily. "Syran, you're not making any sense!"  
  
"I don't think I need to be for you to do your job," the king said shortly, not looking up from his maps and diagrams. Dozens of candles lit the room as brightly as day, in this windowless room.  
  
Lykouleon stared. "Syran," he changed his tone. "I'm your brother, and I care about you. And maybe I don't know Naltaeri as well or as long as you, but I used to play with her too, and I'm telling you now that all she really wants is to be loved. And what I don't understand-" his voice rose again "is why you can't just give her that, especially since you feel exactly the same way!"  
  
"There's no time," Syran snapped. "I'm busy."  
  
"Oh, fuck that," Lykouleon snapped back. "You've seen the troops. You've seen the positions. Maybe everyone else has forgotten you used to beat me at strategy half-asleep but if I can figure it out you can too. It's /over/, Syran. We're done. Call it a year, maybe two, and the Lihallan Empire isn't going to exist anymore. All this-" he waved a hand "all these maps and charts and sleepless nights aren't going to do a damn thing to change that. And you know it." Silence from the other man. "Look," Lykouleon said tiredly, "it's laudable of you to try to drag it out as long as possible. You're going to lose most of the army doing it but the more people you get out of cities, out of the advance path, even into other countries, well, I don't know a man in my command wouldn't be willing to die if it meant getting his wife and kids out. But- oh God, Syran, you /knew/ marrying her was a death sentence!" His voice dropped painfully. "I just want you to be happy in the time you have left."  
  
Syran finally looked up at him, and from where Naltaeri stood in shock they looked haunted. Questions began to rise before her. Why hadn't she questioned Syran's motives? Once Lykouleon had said it, it seemed so clear. Syran had to sleep anyway. He had to eat. He couldn't spend every waking hour of every day on the war, could he? Why couldn't he spend any time at all with her? Why was he so eager to separate himself from her so completely?  
  
What had Lykouleon meant by a death sentence?  
  
She leaned forward and had to catch herself on the wall, dizzy from the change of position. Blackness tickles the ends of my vision and I scarcely have time to realize it's not... just... dizziness...  
  
My eyelids betrayed me, closing.  
  
//////////  
  
"I've never seen this sort of result from a junction overload, but perhaps--"  
  
"I have," I cut her off abruptly. "It was, ah, during the war." Of course I've never seen any such thing, but so many strange and unexplainable results of Time Compression and Sorceresses power abounded that it's my best chance for pulling this off. I shove anger and confusion down; cursing the whims of fate, bringing me back right then, could come later. "I mean, you know how it was," I continue, trying not to sound nervous, "We were getting bombarded with so much strange energy, we were taking junctions we'd never even heard of, casting spells no one's ever seen, new GFs, y'know, no one ever ran tests on any of those things... it was our lives, you understand, we didn't have time to research-" I'm still sitting up, I realize, and begin to swing my legs over the side, ignoring Kadowaki's abortive movements- "but we really put ourselves through it, half the time we were fighting with injuries severe enough to put a normal person into a coma--"  
  
"I know your experiences were inhuman," the doctor acknowledged dubiously, "but I thought we'd flushed your system."  
  
"We don't understand half the stuff we did to ourselves, doc, doubt anyone will for the next few centuries, there was so much magic going through, we were casting anything and everything and to hell with our affinities. We had just about every damn spell ever known knocking around in our heads and quite a few besides, that's bound to set off a few reactions to be dealt with." I'm vertical now. "Look, you said yourself there's no physical evidence, my hormone levels are just too high. It's a coincidence, okay? Probably something Alexander cooked up with his med level up stuff, we mixed up some pretty weird medical potions towards the end there and we were hyped on Curaga's 24-7. It's probably just a reaction to my injury, right? My body's not used to healing itself normally anymore, it's got to go to extremes."  
  
Kadowaki looked skeptical as I gave her my most sincere look and balanced (albeit precariously) on my own two feet. "You may be right," she acknowledged. "Well, I don't know what the cause is anyway, so all I can do is treat the effects. This didn't show up on your physical last month, and you said yourself you haven't been feeling any ill effects... I'll just prescribe you some birth control pills. That should lower your hormone levels... two weeks' dosage, then, and we'll test you again..."  
  
"Great," I said, grabbing the bottle. "I bet they'll go right down, doc. Thanks for everything. I'm going to go check in Inglia..."  
  
"Wait just a second!" She sounds indignant. "I want to run a few more tests, and..." I'm already out the door.   
  
I throw the pills out on my way back to my room and lock the door behind me, leaning heavily against it and breathing. There's nothing I can do on this end to help, and if Naltaeri's pregnancy is showing up in my body I don't want to risk taking those pills and hurting her baby. He or she is going to be a historical figure, and the ramifications of hurting or killing s/he are more than my aching head can deal with. In two weeks, either Naltaeri has delivered or not: that was pretty much going to determine my hormone levels.  
  
I had more important fish to fry. Opening up my terminal, I start running searches for everything I can find on the Lihallan Empire. Lykouleon's words are still echoing through my head. Before, my idle flipping through history books had always had a languid air; I'd felt it hadn't really mattered and I didn't really want to know, anyway. But now things had changed. If things were really as bleak as the picture I'd been painted, I had to know. There was more at stake than idle curiosity, a perfectionist's desire to control the yet-to-come as well as the here-and-now. Now it was different. Knowing, or not knowing, could save far more important lives than mine.  
  
Knowledge was the one currency whose value could be transported over lands and centuries.  
  
I had so very little time in which to become rich.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Hmmm, food for thought. What is going on in Syran's little mind? ^^ In time, all will be revealed... assuming, that is, that sufficient reviews are received. Ah, yes, time to bribe the author.  
  
Speaking of which!  
  
Tennyo Tears: Do I even have to say anything? *mucho hugs* love you much! Guess there's no preview screening on this one but I was too busy writing to even go online. I guess my muses really are back on the bandwagon- and I know who I have to thanks. *bows* arigatou gozaimasu!  
  
Yuki: *ponders* it's not entirely accurate to say that /Seifer's/ having the dreams, as you'll find out. Can't say more yet ^_- but you'll find out in those updates you demanded... :)  
  
CelesteSpring: *impressed* I have a trademark? Awesome! Quality pressure, here I come... heh, heh. It's really flattering to have someone /expect/ excellence. Makes me feel more like I have it in me.  
  
Quistis88: Don't feel bad, that's my job! How about we both just feel good? I'm writing, you're reading, all is right for the world. Thanks for sticking around over my loooong hiatus- you're one of the only one of my former reviewers who did!  
  
Pierson: Mwhahaha- a new inductee. ) No, just kidding! I'm glad you think there's something original in what I'm doing. That was my goal. Ne, while you're here, go read ~Hourglass~. Shameless plug, I know, but hey, an author can dream. (no pun intended!) At least stick around here! ^^v  
  
Starwhisperer: wow... I... wow. What can I say to that? *cheers* Thanks! Don't give up hope- I absolutely hate leaving something unfinished *ducks at the thought of her year-long hiatus from DoC...* Yes, this is a Seiftis, though I don't mind admitting I've branched out in pairings more since I started writing this. As for Seifer and the real world... like I told Yuki, well, you'll see. You may have the wrong impression, though. Heh, heh.  
  
^^v well, looks like that's it for this one! That's a wrap- see you soon!  
  
(assuming, that is, you click the blue button.)  
  
Raging Ego: "FEED ME!!!" 


	6. discovery

Hello to everyone! Everyone meaning about four people, right about now. Thanks to everyone who reviewed; there were just enough of you that this chapter, miraculously, got done. *pointed glare at everyone else* Yes, two weeks, I know. Crisis of motivation, people. I doubt some of you really understand just what it means to see a review- and just how your eagerness to write fluctuates depending on said level of reviews. *sighs* It would be easier the other way... oh well.  
  
The good news is that after this there's only one more chapter and the epilogue. Whee! Almost done. Thank goodness. I feel bad about this whole fic half the time. I'll be glad when I'm done with my guilt trip.  
  
Again, this chapter is a little shorter. This isn't just lack of motivation; it's planning too :p so there is some method to my madness... at least that's my story and I'm sticking to it. Stay tuned for the grand climax, which is next, and which will hopefully be out quicker than this chapter took *crosses fingers and glares at reviews*  
  
Not mine!  
  
----------------  
  
_In Dreams_  
  
----------------  
  
The first thing though her mind when she woke up was how badly she wanted to just roll over and go back to bed. Unfortunately for her, that was most emphatically not part of SeeD training. Just the opposite, in fact, and so the force of training forced her out of the haven of sheets and pillows. It wasn't until she stood barefoot on cold stone floor that she registered drapes and candles and reflected that she could have slept in after all.  
  
A series of cries dispelled that idea, and she immediately started hunting for the source of the noise. It wasn't hard to find: there was only one object out of place in the by-now-familair chamber, and it wasn't hard to guess what would be inside the ornately carved crib set up in the corner of the room. Bemused, Quistis looked over the high, solid railings and was rewarded with a happy gurgle from the child within.  
  
/So this is my daughter.../ the thought was distant, almost unimportant. Try as she might, she couldn't reconcile this innocent child with the large blue eyes with herself. It just didn't seem to click.  
  
/Maybe it's not supposed to./ She remembered enough of her hostage-rescue training to support the neck as she lifted the child, whose name, she realized belatedly, she didn't know. She still managed to make adequate babytalk, judging by the cheerful gurgles and laughter coming from the bouncing baby girl. Some things were just instinctive. "So you're the future of the Lihallan Empire," she murmured to the cheerfully innocent bundle that seemed interested only in whether or not her toes would fit in her mouth. "Assuming there is one, that is."  
  
The princess shifted in her arms, and Quistis started walking aimlessly around the room. That seemed to settle her down somewhat, for she promptly snuggled up and went back to sleep, leaving Quistis to deal with the unexpected sensation of twelve pounds of deadweight baby in her arms. "You're not as light as you look. Ooof..." Fortunately the little one didn't stir as she was put back into her... crib? As good a word as any, Quistis decided, although cribs probably hadn't been invented yet. Locating the blanket- which the sleeping child had somehow managed to throw to the floor- and replacing it back where it belonged, she turned her attention to other matters.  
  
"Drat the man, where is he?" she muttered. It was a rhetorical question, of course. She knew very well where he was. It wasn't as if he'd left the room for the past... well, at least nine months. She frowned. There was something wrong with that... but there was something wrong with the whole war, something that had been bugging her since she'd started her serious research efforts. Something- somewhere- was just not matching up. She had to find out why, but first, she had to know what *was* going on, and Syran had been keeping Naltaeri entirely out of the war effort. She grimaced and started digging out a robe of some sort and throwing it over what passed for nightclothes. They were thicker and more covering than her SeeD uniform, and a good deal harder to move around in, but slightly less cumbersome than a full dress. She'd been tempted more than once to raid her husband's closet, but he still had several inches of height and waist on her, and it would hardly have been any better. Perhaps there was a way to junction clothing... maybe if she packaged it up very small and wrapped spell items around it first... or maybe if one of her GFs held onto it before going back in her head... something to think about. Trivial, at the moment. More important was getting an update on what was going on.  
  
And finding out exactly how dire their situation was.  
  
She set from the room at a brisk walk, the untied ends of the housecoat trailing behind her. She paid them no mind as she walked, mind working over problems at a speed rivaling her quick step. Something, her instincts were telling her, just weren't adding up. But try as she might, she couldn't figure it out. She'd always been a very visual person; hopefully, once she could see the whole situation spread out on a map, she'd figure out what was wrong. There was definitely *something* off about the whole situation, something that, if they could only figure it out, would throw the whole thing their way. *If* she could figure it out. That was the crux of the dilemma, she knew. There were very few problems she couldn't solve once aware of them; the real challenge was figuring out what the problem was.  
  
"Naltaeri, I thought we agreed that you weren't going to get involved in this anymore."  
  
Scratch that. The real challenge was going to be being "allowed" (she gritted her teeth) to figure out what the problem was.  
  
"Look, I know you want to help, and however you knew about the invasion was really useful, but you haven't been able to do that again and I really don't think..."  
  
"Lykouleon!" she turned to face him and smiled as brightly as she could while resisting the urge to punch him. Patience in the face of misogyny had never been her strong point. "There's no need to overreact. I just want to take a look at a few of the maps and-"  
  
"No." He blocked her way, all traces of amused tolerance gone. "Absolutely not."  
  
Suspicion began to trickle through her mind. "And why not?" she challenged, edging around him. He shifted to block her, revealing as he did that while he may have been well trained by this time's standards his hand-to-hand was sorely lacking by hers. "What's on those maps that you don't want me to see?"  
  
"It's none of your concern." Cool grey eyes tracking her warily, watching for her next move. He needn't have bothered. She wasn't about to telegraph it to him the way he just had to her.  
  
"You're lying to everyone," she said softly, and saw his eyes go steely. It wasn't news to her. She'd suspected it all along, and overhearing his 'conversation' with Syran- 'argument' was probably closer to the truth- had just confirmed it for her. "No one else knows, do they?"  
  
"Knows what?" Nothing revealed in his voice.  
  
"That we're losing. Badly. A lot more badly than anyone had thought possible." Ah- there it was. The slight flinch, telling her she'd scored, and well. Now, she knew, he'd be even more determined to keep her out. Well, if she had to...  
  
"You don't know what you're talking about," he told her firmly. "You don't have any military training. You should just go back to Elaisha and leave this to us."  
  
"I need to see the real maps, Lykouleon. You need my help."  
  
"No," he said coldly, a thousand years of prejudice driving him forward, "That's one thing we don't need."  
  
There was only one way, really, to respond to that, and Quistis was honest enough to admit to herself that even if there *had* been an alternative, her pride wouldn't have let her take it. So she gave in to impulse and punched him square in the jaw.  
  
"That," she grinned, "you definitely needed." And she closed in. His shock made him an easy target, and his hand-to-hand was subpar at best. A third-year cadet could probably have beaten him; it was no task for Quistis to wipe the floor with him. Her body protested, of course. Naltaeri definitely wasn't in the physical shape Quistis was; a little-appreciated fact, however, was that muscles meant little compared to willpower. Her instincts were all in the right place. She simply ordered her body to respond, and respond it did; and if she didn't quite have her full strength behind her, that had really only been an issue with the first punch.   
  
She /did/ feel a little guilty about leaving him unconscious on the floor, but she really hadn't hit him /that/ hard. About the only thing bruised was his pride, and no, she really didn't feel guilty about /that/. Still, she did close and bolt the door behind her, just in case. Squall always had had a hard head.  
  
She'd been half-afraid she'd have to search for the papers she needed, that they might be hidden for the sake of classification, but they were lying there on the table, open for all to see. Either security hadn't yet become the art form it was in her time- aided, no doubt, by computers- or they were just that confident that no one would see their plans or understand if they did. She had to admit it was unlikely, in this day and age, for servants to understand battle plans. It was a little different in Garden, where that training was an integral part of everyone walking the halls, from cadet to Instructor. Well, it made her job easier. And the main map was right on top, held down with rocks. But what it said-  
  
"No, that can't be right," she murmured in shock, staring blankly at the map. "That's impossible!"  
  
Hastily she shuffled through all the other papers on the table, other maps, field reports, communiqués, army positions. It was all the same. She dropped them carelessly, picking up the map, staring at it. So innocent, it hung there, not knowing, not understanding. This was the key to what had felt wrong the whole time.  
  
She'd *seen* that map before.  
  
Not just her, either. Every SeeD cadet had seen it as well. After the first two years of basic schooling, a cadet had the chance to enter the SeeD program, pre-graduation courses. That was when you chose your weapons proficiency, took your first junction. Up to that point the training was fairly standard, and Garden might as well have been any other military academy. That was the point. A would-be cadet could walk away- or fail out- within the first two years and still be fitted for a career in any army or self-defense force in the world. Some children simply wanted to learn how to defend themselves, and never intended to go on. The real SeeD program started the beginning of third year, and then new cadets were sorted into their classes based on prior knowledge and inborn skill.  
  
This map she was staring at was a _placement_ test for battle strategy.  
  
A small corner of her brain, the part that was still thinking things through calmly, observed dryly that now at least she knew where they had gotten the battle. It had been a subject of contention for SeeD cadets for as long as Garden had been around. Understandably, it was a closely held secret; the teachers didn't want students digging into history books to find the solution. Rumor had it that they'd classified all the information relating to this battle, down to the very culture and country it'd concerned...  
  
Her eyes widened. /Hyne.../  
  
So that was why she'd run into so many dead ends. Why she'd been blocked at every turn searching for information. For a Hyne-damned *placement test*?  
  
But that, she realized with a start, wasn't even the real problem.  
  
The real problem was that this test was theoretically impossible.  
  
That, she remembered dazedly, had been the whole point. They hadn't been *supposed* to win. No cadet could have had the military knowledge to even start correctly. What the test was really designed for was to see how cadets reacted under pressure, to gauge the originality of their thinking, to see how quickly they could shift gears, if they were willing to take risks. Some cadets froze up, others refused to deviate from the regulations, or simply agonized over their decisions for far too long. Some were unwilling to send troops to die for the greater good. Some simply had no grasp of strategy. None of those made it into Stragetos classes. But even the ones who did- she herself had been one of them- hadn't won. They'd simply reacted well. Made quick decisions, taken risks, pitched the rulebook out the window and tried daring and unorthodox solutions when it became clear classic strategies would just get them killed. She, Quistis recalled, had tried a highly risky spell barrage. It had failed, of course. Not enough spells, too few junctions, a ridiculously high burnout rate. But at least she'd tried. And it was okay, because no one won-  
  
No.  
  
The map slipped through suddenly numb fingers.  
  
Someone /had/ won.  
  
It was an utter impossibility. Sheer luck, some teachers had said, a fluke, a mistake in the simulations, something being allowed that shouldn't have been. It was true, of course. The computer was programmed to do whatever it took to win. It was rare that that was required, of course. Most students lost on their own merit. Those that forced the computer into cheating to effect their defeat rose quickly though Strategos ranks; they became the military geniuses of SeeD. But they still, always, lost. If it took last-minute reinforcements of thousands of men, cheating with the junctions, fudging burnout and casualty rates... the computer was *programmed* to *cheat*, if it had to, in order to win. It *always* won.  
  
But she remembered one student. One brilliant student who'd taken it and lost, as everyone had, but unlike everyone else had realized why he'd lost. Not because he'd been bad, or even ordinary. He'd pulled the computer logs and realized he'd been cheated. And halfway though that semester, he'd broken into the simulator and reprogrammed the computer to play fairly. And then he'd fought the battle again and won. Not overwhelmingly, and at great cost to his side, but he'd won.  
  
So there _was_ a way out of this scenario, despite everything she'd ever been told- and she only knew that because she'd taught this student. The records had been wiped, the teacher who'd caught him sworn to silence- and, Quistis remembered with a pang, Instructor Melbourne had died during the War. The computer logs had been wiped. No one was supposed to have known, but one of her students... a boy who craved attention, who wanted her approval... he'd left the single hardcopy of the records on her desk.  
  
She'd never talked to him about it. She'd always wondered if that lack of recognition had driven him into Ultimecia's arms. But she'd never forgotten, either, that out of everyone who'd lost that unwinnable battle, Seifer Almasy had done the impossible- and won.  
  
/But then,/ she thought, remembering troop deployments and communiqués, /Why isn't he doing it here?/ The placements were all wrong, were classical in the extreme. This looked like a suicide battle to her trained eye. She and he knew the way to win- so why wasn't it laid out before her?  
  
And that, she saw with blinding clarity, was what was wrong. This battle was indicative of this whole war. By all indications, it was being fought by a king with dated, classical knowledge. Knowledge that didn't extend beyond this time period. There was nothing new or creative or innovative, or even any accepted strategies that dated after the rise of the Galbadian Empire. Subconsciously, she'd been expecting brilliance- a brilliance she'd come to expect from her favorite student.  
  
Why wasn't Syran listening to Seifer?  
  
She had to find him, she knew. Find him and make him listen, make him understand...  
  
She was out the door and running before her mind had even thought it through.  
  
She never made it.  
  
  
  
//////////  
  
Someone once told me that darkness was the absence of color.  
  
They were almost right. Lying here at night, in my Garden room, I could almost believe there's no color. White wall, black shadow. Even my uniform, the brightest piece of clothing I own, is dimmed to grey in the half-light seeping under my sealed door.  
  
Almost. If I don't turn.  
  
But I do.  
  
They're blood red in the night, mocking me as they slowly tick by. Impartial, caring for naught beyond the tick of seconds, minute after minute, hour after hour, counting to sixty over and over again with the mindless dedication of the ignorant.  
  
Ignorance is cruelty.  
  
Time keeps right on going.  
  
This is worse, in its way, than the War ever was. That was dangerous, yes. Every minute of every day, we were in danger of being attacked, in danger of losing our lives. But we were doing something. We were right there, in the middle, and we had the comfort of knowing that we were the best fighters in the world, and we held power that was the stuff of fairytales. We knew we weren't invincible, but we had a fighting chance, and that was more than most of the civilians- casualties- of the War could say.  
  
We were /there/. We were doing something.  
  
What must it have been like to be on the sidelines?  
  
But for them, ignorance was bliss. They didn't know what was really happening, from day to day, didn't know where troops were or how close many of them came to being killed. For most of the people who died, I was told, it was instantaneous; they didn't even know it was coming.   
  
There's something to be said for that, because now I can see how horrible the alternative is: I *know* what's going on. I know there's a battle being fought, and lives being lost, and I *know* I could change it... and I can't.  
  
That night, I dream of Time Compression. For the first time since the War, it isn't a nightmare.  
  
By the time I went back, the battle was long over. We'd lost.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
One more to go- the conclusion approacheth...  
  
Quistis88: Hope the ending doesn't disappoint ^_- I feel that the quality of these past few chapters has been slipping, but the last one's shaping up very nicely. Let me know what you think!  
  
Pierson: ^^ Tee hee. I love plot complications... they're so much fun. Gets the mind working. Resolution is swiftly approaching- no sense in drawing things out, right?  
  
Tennyo-chan: You still rock, girl. Don't let school get you down! *persists in thinking early August is waaaay too early for school...* I'm not a magician, really, though sometimes I feel like a channel for something else. Well, I hope it holds out! :)  
  
Hynes Lady Phoenix: You're so sweet... I'd be blushing if I wasn't too tan for it to matter! *too much time at the beach...* I'm glad you think I'll acheive my dreams... your review is going up next to the huge stack of papers I have for my original fantasy novel. I get bogged down all the time- glad to know someone thinks I'll pull through! Please stick around, and give writing a shot- I know I'd love to read what you have to say.  
  
^^ Thanks for everything, guys- until the next one!  
  
Lyaka ^^ 


	7. sleep

Well... here it is...  
  
Doesn't quite seem like it's done. Well, there's always the epilogue, right? Right.  
  
Hope you all enjoy. Please review... this part was a lot harder to write than you'd think.  
  
Not mine.  
  
-------------------  
  
In Dreams  
  
-------------------  
  
Once she knew where to look, it was frighteningly easy.  
  
Her Instructor's license opened the placement files for her without murmur or protest. Once she was in the database, a wash of knowledge flooded her screen, and she had to close her eyes for a moment to fight the urge to curse or cry, she knew not which. So easy, and it had been there all along. Hidden for the sake of a test. Hyne help her, the knowledge that lay before her could have done so much, if she'd had it. If she'd known. She could have rewritten the history texts that lay classified before her.  
  
But there they were, stark in cream text on a dark blue page, and the SeeD colors served only to mock her as she sat defeated in the dim half-light of curfew.  
  
She shuffled past endless battles, dissertations of Lihallan strategy, searching for where she fell in history. Centuries slipped between her fingers as she typed rapidly through the rises and falls of a fading Empire's fortunes. Towards the end, she saw, it hadn't deserved the title, its colonies liberated, its subject nations gaining independence. For the last few decades it had been called an Empire out of convenience and courtesy, an old habit appended to an old culture, both finding themselves rapidly left behind.  
  
A shiver ran up her spine as she located the placement test and lay it against the sketchy timeline. It wasn't nearly as complete as she could have wished, and she nearly screamed with frustration: this timeline showed no dates, no names of rulers, only generals and locations. And the names of battles. It had no historical benchmarks; it did not even tell her how far apart battles that lay side by side had occurred in time. Her fragmented memories of her Ancient Cultures course reminded her that two fights separated only by a minor skirmish on the list had occurred three hundred years apart. The Lihallan Empire had lasted a long time, and from that span of aeons Garden teachers had with cool ruthlessness chosen only the battles suited to their purposes in training the minds of tomorrow. /Didn't it occur to them that tomorrow is useless without the past and doomed without today?/ Apparently not.  
  
The last battle she remembered was next to last on the list.  
  
With a trembling finger she touched the screen over the only battle listed chronologically after it. It had no name, and its description was a single line: [This battle ended in the destruction of the Lihallan Empire.] No more- no battle plans, no names, no places. The tactics had been deemed to bland for inclusion in standard teachings; its presence on this list was a concession to the culture from which they'd gleaned the knowledge: the only pinpoint in time, and useless to her. The dates of the two could be days apart or decades. From this list it was impossible to tell. Were no other battles between them because, after that, Syran had started listening to himself or to her and successfully and uneventfully driven back the Galbariands? Or was it because they had been utterly destroyed?  
  
Search as she might, there were no answers there for her.  
  
///////////////////  
  
Gunfire, in the distance.  
  
Naltaeri knew enough to recognize it, though she could not remember how and why that knowledge had come about. It was frightening to her, both what she could not understand and what she did. Painted together, they made a frightening picture.  
  
Gunfire and cannonry in the distance.  
  
The blankets were heavy against her, red brocade on thick down-filled comforters. They did not comfort her, though the weight lent an illusory feeling of safety, of being cared for.   
  
It served only to strengthen her instinct that something was wrong.  
  
She sat up in bed, covers pooling in her lap. The curtains were drawn back, unobstructing her view of the room. Empty. Nothing was changed.   
  
But the sounds of battle echoed through the stone.  
  
A closer sound made her jump, stone against stone, heart against chest. Syran entered the room, barring the door behind him, leaning against it and closing his eyes, fatigue etched across his face.  
  
"Syran?"  
  
Jade eyes opened to focus on her. "I'd hoped you still slept."  
  
"I was awakened." Horrible suspicion began to dawn on her. "Outside..."  
  
He bowed his head. "They've reached the castle. We're under siege."  
  
Numbness crept up her spine. "So close? So soon? How is that possible?"  
  
Self-mockery. "I lied to you, Naltaeri. Things are a lot worse than you knew."  
  
She stared down at her hands, twisted together in a crumpled pile of blankets. "What... does this mean?"  
  
He came over then, sitting on the edge of the bed and drawing her into his arms. "Our defenses are... limited. The servants and minor nobles have already been sent away."  
  
"The army?"  
  
His breath was warm on her neck, harsh contrast to the chill reality of his words. "If there were enough left to hold them off, they never would have gotten this far. The palace guard is trying. They will fail."  
  
She closed her eyes. "How long?" The words had to be forced from her lips. So brutal, so hard. Somehow she'd never thought it would come to this.  
  
"Hours."  
  
Her breath caught in her throat. "Elaisha!" She started to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Syran's hand caught her, held her in place.  
  
"Hours gone, with Lykouleon. If no one else could get out..."  
  
"Yes." Naltaeri uncoiled back against the sheets. A terrible sense of loss rose up inside her, words escaping without meaning or understanding. "You should have listened."  
  
Syran seemed frozen, gazing down at her, and a thousand emotions she could not name passed through his eyes. "What did you say?"  
  
"I..." She pressed her head against the pillows, frightened. "I don't know." Seconds missing from memory, a terrifying gap of blank fog.  
  
"No." Jade eyes on sapphire. "Say it again."  
  
"You should have listened." Frozen for a moment; then her body comes unhinged, huddling against the pillows. Again, nothingness where memory should be.  
  
"So." Syran falls against the pillows. "In my pride I thought I was the only one who could save us; in such was I defeated."  
  
"Don't say that."  
  
"It's true."  
  
"It's not!" She rose up to her elbow, staring down at him with wonder and fear and love all intertwined. "You have done all that you could."  
  
"Yes," he says softly. "All... *I* could."   
  
She had never before heard defeat in his voice, and it frightened her more than all the thunder of cannons could. "What more could you have done?" Naltaeri demanded of Syran. "Which of those other foolish /akh'I/ could have lead our army better? You have not won the war, but I am still not convinced it was ever within your power. What you have done is be clever. You outmaneuvered the Galbariands, fought them, tricked them. We will never know how many of our people you have saved, to live in other lands."  
  
"The empire will still fall."  
  
She sank down beside him, and reaching up she touched his face. "An empire is its people. If they live, then you have done your duty, both to Lihalla and to me."  
  
"I have failed my people," he says bitterly, "and I have never brought you anything but grief."  
  
She threw her head back proudly. "If you have saved my people, you have brought me joy and hope. No more could I ask of any man."  
  
He reached out for her, too, caressing her cheek. "You say that now, but I know you must have been lonely, and I was not there."  
  
"You are here now."  
  
Bitterness, in his eyes. "For how long?"  
  
"Long enough." She drew closer to him, tilted her face up to his. "Stay with me."  
  
He wrapped his arms around her. "I will."  
  
Together they lay there, and waited for the end.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
[The End]  
  
...please don't kill me. I swear that's the story exactly as I was told it, and it's unchangeable. It's history already, after all.  
  
The epilogue will be out in a few days... i /think/.  
  
Pierson: Glad to know you're sticking around. So... *winces* what did you think?  
  
Quistis88: Heh... suspense... I hope this lived up to expectations.   
  
Ripley: Well... thanks for the compliment... but it was less a knack for timing and more a "Lyaka woke up one day and felt really really guilty" sort of thing. Still ^^ if that's my story, I'll stick to it! And I'm glad I'm working your brain... Like I said at the beginning of this ficcy, /I/ don't quite understand this. Naltaeri is an interesting muse, to put it mildly.  
  
dreamergirl277: All /right!/ *does a happy dance* I did it! I did it! I wrote a good dream-fic! Yay! :) Seriously, that makes me so happy to know that I succeeded in my stated goal, and accomplished something besides tension, angst and really weird cliffhangers. ^^ Thanks so much! Hope you liked the ending!  
  
L[a]Dy^P[a]R[a]No[i]d: Awesome handle, btw... i'm glad you liked me. Sorry in a way this one is ending, but I can't keep it going forever, and this is what it's supposed to do, so... i'll just have to write a new fic after this. Any suggestions? I'm looking for a challenge, and I might do that Zuu fic yet. :)  
  
Tennyo Tears: Suspense! Suspense! Sorry ^^;;; I hope this was as good as you hoped... and I hope it was worth the wait. You showed remarkable forebearance, btw. I'm happy :) I'm blushing... what are you going to do if you keep on complimenting me and I get a big head, hmmm? *hugs* hang around! more to come!   
  
And that is indeed that... tune in in a few days for the epilogue, where we take a fun metaphysical romp through time and space. Bathrobes, anyone?  
  
Lyaka ^^ 


	8. wake

*deep breath* ...here it is.  
  
Never mine.  
  
--------------  
  
In Dreams  
  
--------------  
  
Emptiness. Nothingness. She was surrounded by a bleak, blue-gray zero.  
  
"Am I... dead?"  
  
"No. And yes."  
  
Quistis spun, trying in vain to locate a voice that seemed to be coming from all around her. The puzzle was solved for her when another person stepped through the mists to stand face-to-face with the SeeD.  
  
"Who... are you?"  
  
"We are I. We are one." The enigma smiled. "I am you."  
  
"Me?" There were physical similarities, especially the color of eyes and hair, but this woman seemed so far above her as to reduce Quistis to a first-year cadet. She was remote, radiant, alien. Lofty. Her?  
  
A smile, as if reading her thoughts. "Better to say I am your higher consciousness."  
  
"What happened to Naltaeri?"  
  
"I am Naltaeri. We are one."  
  
"I... don't understand."  
  
"I am the part of you that is ready to evolve to a higher level."  
  
"Then... what am I?"  
  
"You are the part of us that still has lessons to learn, and for that, you are reborn. Naltaeri's lesson is complete; she has merged with me, and so we come a little closer to our goal. As we near it, more of you-" she touched Quistis' chest- "becomes me. Our lifetimes grow shorter and shorter, until at last we are complete, and there is no further need for birth- we are ready to move past this plane of existence, to the next."  
  
"Did I help?"  
  
"Yes." A smile. "You were meant to- you had to."  
  
"But how... how could I change the past?"  
  
"You did not. Naltaeri is an incarnation you have yet to be. She is, crudely put, your future."  
  
"That's impossible." Quistis shook her head. "She lived in my past!"  
  
"From here, that does not matter. This place is the essence of the fourth dimension, the one we work now to master. We, here..." she gestured around them, "Are in a place in time outside of space. From here you can understand... that time, as you view know it, is a mobius strip drawn in the sands. Everything that will be leads back to everything that was; everything that was will become everything that is."  
  
"I still don't understand."  
  
Bending, she drew an invisible circle on the ground. "Where's the beginning?"  
  
Quistis pointed. "There."  
  
"Why there?"  
  
"Because that's where your finger first touched the ground."  
  
Another smile. "Exactly." She pointed again. "If you're a two-dimensional creature, and you're placed in this circle, to you, there is no beginning or end. Everything before you leads to everything behind, and vice versa. There's no way out, and no way in. To a two-dimensional creature, the circle cannot exist, because any one point of the circle existing implies the existence of every one of an infinite number of points. But a three-dimensional creature can see the beginning and the end, because they're coming at the problem from an entire plane of existence the two-dimensional creature doesn't understand. Once the beginning and the end have served their purpose, they are no longer there, even to the three-dimensional creature; but the difference between you and a two-dimensional creature is that you can see where the beginning used to be."  
  
Quistis looked at her self with new understanding. "So... what you said before, about time not being linear..."  
  
"Time is the fourth dimension. You are a third-dimensional creature; therefore, to you, time is linear. You do not control time; it controls you- like the third dimension here controls the second-dimensional creature."  
  
"But..." Quistis thought this through. "For the fourth dimension to circle, there must be a fifth... but then there must be a sixth..."  
  
"Infinity in all things," Naltaeri said. "Infinite points in a circle. Infinite moments in the timeloop. Infinite dimensions of existence. The last quest of all beings... to rise higher, and higher... and because life never ends, neither does that quest."  
  
Quistis shook her head. "I can't handle all that..."  
  
"You don't have to, yet. We're still tied to this plane. One day, we won't be, and then we'll be able to handle more. But never everything. That's just the way it works."  
  
"So... that's why Naltaeri died? Because she came before me?"  
  
"Her lifetime did not need to be so long, because she had come so far already. Her lesson was learned, her task completed. Now she is here, and we are that much closer."  
  
"What about Syran?"  
  
"There it is the opposite. Syran came before Seifer in their quest."  
  
"But..." Quistis was starting to get dizzy. "But he died young!"  
  
"He failed," her other self said coldly, though not without a hint of sympathy. "The lesson of Syran's lifetime was the lesson of pride. In his pride he was told he alone could save Lihalla; in his pride he refused to listen to Seifer. That lesson was one he could only learn in the Lihallan war. In his failure was lost the need for further existence. He was taken back."  
  
"Then... what happens as a result of that failure?"  
  
"He must repeat the lesson."  
  
"Oh..." She shook her head. "Will he... do you think he can do it?"  
  
A rare smile blossomed on that remote face. "He already has," her voice became warmer, softer. "As Seifer. In pride did he follow Ultimecia; in humility did he return home, and there, from the ones for whom he cared the most-" she touched Quistis' hand- "did he receive absolution. This life, for him, is a success. He will evolve further."  
  
"Does... does that mean he's going to die soon?" she whispered, half-afraid to hear the answer.  
  
Her self shook her head. "No one may know what is to befall them, or the others in their circle."  
  
"Circle?"  
  
"Do you think it an accident that your childhood siblings became your closest adult friends? We are not meant to live alone. You move through your life with them. You are linked."  
  
"So then-" she began, but she was cut off.  
  
"You begin to ask too clever of questions," a light smile took the sting from the words, but not the finality. "The life and lessons of Naltaeri are over. You must return to Quistis, and finish what you have started in that life. You will stand before me again, when that is finished."  
  
"But-" lethargy crept up on her, turning her limbs to lead. "But-!"   
  
Darkness closed in.  
  
===========  
  
When she awoke in her bed at Garden, it was twilight outside. The moon bathed her room in an unearthly glow, and when it mingled with the dusky light in her room, there were patches in the corners of nothingness.  
  
As one in a dream, she arose from her bed, and unseeing leaving her room followed her heart through the empty stone and tile corridors built by ancient hands for modern use. Without conscious thought, she reached a door. It slid open at her touch, and she went inside.  
  
Seifer was simply sitting, on the edge of his bed, watching the door. Waiting.  
  
She went over to him, and he took her in his arms and brought her down to lie with him.  
  
There were no more words between them.  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Well, it's done.  
  
*sighs* It's been quite a ride. Once again huge apologies to all for the long hiatus, choppy nature of parts, and overall delays. Writing his has been kinda rocky, and truth be told I'm breathing a huge sigh of relief that it's over and I finished it. ^^v All riiiight!  
  
But chaptered stories are *hell*, and i'll probably doing one-shots for a while while I let my muses recuperate. *flash to: muses lying in heaps, unconscious* :p I think they're mad at me right now for all of this, but as long as everyone else is happy...  
  
Lady Paranoid: :) Here it is. Thanks for reading  
  
Quistis88: Again, thanks, especially for being one of the people who's stuck with my from Hourglass through Dreams. It's great to have you on board ^^  
  
PrincessMercury: lol, you're forgiven since you did get around to doing it eventually... believe me, I've done that a few times. Here's the end; hope you liked!  
  
Yomi 1: I was going to ask you which parts you thought were OOC... but having recieved a review from another Yomi, I'll settle for saying thanks a lot, jerk.  
  
Verdanii: Sorry to hear that it wasn't quite your cup of tea. (You probably won't ever see this...) Thanks for giving it a try and for saying it was good anyway. There are plenty of other authors who aren't quite as... erm... out there ^^;;; may I suggest Alonia Everclear's works?  
  
Yomi 2: Quite all right, I understand. I'd get pretty upset if someone went around stealing my name, especially as there's no way it could be a coincidence, considering that my name comes from a langauge I invented. So don't worry about it, there's no harm done. Maybe I'll get into Hunter x Hunter and come read your stuff; it looks like it'd be good if I had any idea what was going on. ^^v  
  
And there you have it! THE END!  
  
[readers breathe a collective sigh of relief that it's finally finished]  
  
Review, review, review, and check back for new stuff coming soon!  
  
Lyaka ^^  
  
^^v and that's a wrap! I'll see you all later [I hope...]  
  
Please review, tell me this whole mess was worth it!  
  
Lyaka ^^ 


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